


Stop, Passenger, As You Pass By

by grumkin_snark



Series: Comment Fics [21]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Series, R plus L equals J, as far as any afterlife fic can be anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7605241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumkin_snark/pseuds/grumkin_snark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hush now, my dear. I have come to take you home.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop, Passenger, As You Pass By

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni/gifts).



> Prompt: [“I’m not here for you.”](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/633679.html?thread=86606415#t86606415)

****_I’m not here for you_ , she says when he walks towards her. It still hurts to look upon his face, worse now than it did the last, and dying had meant all her ills went away yet for a moment she remembers. That pain she’d always felt, deep in her bones, that no one could fix. He’d tried, once upon a time, until one day he didn’t.

His death hadn’t been quick, which should bring her vindictive joy, but it doesn’t. She’d watched as his chest was crushed, as his lungs swallowed up blood, as avaricious soldiers dug through the crimson river for tiny red stones. He’d whispered her name as he died, a gurgled apology; not that it helped, much. Her mother had always preached forgiveness—even in this place, she preaches it—but then, her mother hadn’t been as prideful. He didn’t prepare the wildfire that has consumed them all, but he’d lit the match, and for that she’s not sure she can ever absolve him, not completely.

_I’m not here for you_ , she repeats. _Your daughter is, though. She died like you, you know: painful and slow. And through it all, she wondered why her father wasn’t there to save her, why he’d left her all alone._

_Then why are you here?_ he asks. He has been utterly broken, she knows that above all, every foolish plan crushed to dust as surely as his chest. She can manage pity, but not much else. Once, they had been happy. They’d been partners, equals, friends—they haven’t been that for a long time.

She doesn’t answer his query; she can’t. He vanishes in front of her eyes as she leaves, travels far away to a tall, tall tower in her homeland she hasn’t seen in years. The wolf girl labors her last breath, a tiny babe on her breast, and soon she appears, a wild maiden.

_I’ve come for you_ , she says.

_You must hate me_ , the girl replies, recognizing her instantly, shying away. _I hate me._

_No, I do not hate you, sweet girl. I should. It would make things easier. But we have suffered enough, you and I, and I am tired._

The girl is quiet for a time. _He never loved me, did he?_ the girl asks finally, miserably naïve even in death. Or, perchance, just a master at pretend.

_For what you represented, maybe_ , she says. _Love? I’m not sure he ever knew what love was._

_What shall become of my son?_ she whispers. The question is nothing more than cursory; no doubt she’d cared for the boy, in her way, but he was never what she wanted. She’d flown too close to the sun in search of freedom, and fell just as far. None of them had gotten what they’d wanted, not even her husband.

_He’ll grow, safe and sound_ , says the princess. _He won’t know you, of course. He won’t know his father. He’ll be bitter and quiet and angry, but time will pass. And one day he shall find his place, but it won’t be because of you. It will be despite you._

_I’m sorry for everything. For the part I played. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen._

_I believe you_ , she says, and it’s not a lie. Of all the ruinous players in this mess, the wolf had perhaps been least to blame. The girl was a child, distracted by a pretty face and empty promises and sick of the hand that had been dealt.

No, she’d forgiven the girl long ago. _Hush now, my dear. I have come to take you home._


End file.
